


Those poisonous truths

by RavenXavier



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Choking, Emotional Manipulation, Jon's day is not improving, M/M, Victim Blaming, alternate scene from the season 2 finale, creepy smug fondness for the man you're manipulating for your own ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenXavier/pseuds/RavenXavier
Summary: “I can be as monstrous as you imagine me to be,” he whispered, pressing a kiss over Jon’s burning cheek. “I can be the evil king of your fairy tale. Keeping you trapped in the tower just for my cruel, sinful enjoyment.”Elias finds Jon on his doorstep at the end of a day already full of surprises. This one he does not mind so much.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 191





	Those poisonous truths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhyNotFly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyNotFly/gifts).



> A very small piece, born out of the first sentence being stuck into my head, and the desire to do something nice for a dear friend. I hope you like this, darling.
> 
> Thanks so much to j_quadrifrons, acemartinblackwood and HermaeusMora for their comments, advice, and general wisdom. This fic is all the more better for your time and patience.

“Ms Barker would have opened her door, you know.”

Jon startled as if he’d never expected Elias to be on the other side of the door, despite having been standing in front of his house for the past ten minutes. Pale and wide-eyed, hand clutching his wrist tightly, he looked so terribly lost Elias couldn’t help but be overly indulgent. His Jonathan had, after all, had quite the day. Besides which, he had to admit, at least to himself, that he was rather pleased to see him return to him so soon, no matter what he’d told Leitner hours before. 

“Would you like to come in, Jon? I doubt you’ll want to be outside for too long.”

Jon opened his mouth a few times until he finally managed to ask: “Why?” 

“Well, for a start, we’re still in London, and the nights are cold. There’s also the fact there is a corpse in your office, and you may want to be somewhere safe when it’s finally discovered.”

Jon recoiled; his nails dug into his skin and his breath picked up. Elias savoured the fear like the delicate wine it was. Nothing had been quite as delicious as Jon’s terror of being seen, this past year. Frankly, now that he had Jon, he was wondering if anything would ever be as satisfying as watching him grow, blind step after blind step. 

“I didn’t—” Jon finally stammered. “I _didn’t—_ ”

“Yes,” Elias agreed. “Obviously you didn’t, you and I both know that.”

Jon froze. His mind was in such turmoil; it seemed as if he couldn’t settle on what to be most afraid of. Still he raised his chin, eventually, jaw clenched and eyes so beautifully burning, the way he used to stand when he came into Elias’ office to needlessly argue about doing more to assure the security of the public and the Institute. 

“Was it you?” he asked, impulsive and brave, voice barely trembling, and Elias was delighted by the shiver of power that ran down his throat, the tingling feel of compulsion on his lips he had to chase off. 

“Yes,” he still answered honestly. “Now, are we to have such a conversation on my doorstep?”

“I —” Jon wavered on his feet. “Are you going to kill me too?”

Foolish, gorgeous man. 

“Why would I do such a thing?”

For a moment, it seemed as if all the terror drained out of Jon as he stared up at Elias uncomprehendingly. “Why would you— You, you just admitted to murdering Leitner! You — You probably killed Gertrude, as well!”

“And you’re nothing like either of them,” Elias said calmly. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist on you coming inside if you want to know more, Jon.”

He opened the door wider in a silent invitation; Jon, of course, didn’t hesitate long. Elias hadn’t expected him to. He crossed the threshold unsteadily , passing in front of Elias with tense wariness, and looked like he immediately regretted his choice the moment Elias closed the door and locked it. Elias had to fight off a smile. It was uncanny, sometimes, how naturally _perfect_ Jon was. At times it felt as if Elias had to do so very little to keep him on the right path. 

“You must be freezing,” he told him, moving in closer and running his fingers over Jon’s arm soothingly. “Perhaps a warm drink will do you some good—”

“Don’t,” Jon spat, looking stubbornly at the wall.

“Don’t what?” Elias asked, raising his eyebrows. “Be an hospitable host?”

“ _Pretend._ ”

“There’s no reason for me to lie to you right now.”

“You’ve been lying to me for _years.”_

Elias’ hand moved up, until it was resting comfortably against Jon’s neck; Jon’s breath hitched, but he didn’t move away.

“Is that what upset you?” Elias asked quietly, fondly. “Not that I’ve murdered people, but that I’ve kept things from you?”

“That’s not — That’s not what I _said._ ” 

At last Jon looked back at him, young and unsure and filled with helpless rage and betrayal, and yet still _yearning_ for Elias to give him something, _anything_ . Oh, how Elias wished to be greedy right now; to take everything that made Jonathan Sims, tear him apart and rebuild him until every inch of Jon was _his,_ unmistakably marked and claimed not by the Eye, not by any other entity, just _him,_ Jonah. His own personal devotee and tool and god, a carefully crafted soul forever wearing Jon’s beautiful dark eyes —

“Yet it’s the truth,” Elias murmured, barely restraining himself, thumb gently brushing against Jon’s clenched jaw. “It’s quite alright, Jon.There is beauty in terrible truths, as I’m sure you’re starting to realize.”

That brought a nervous, wrecked laugh out of Jon; he was shaking, Elias noticed, and gently put his other hand on Jon’s hip. The last time they’d been so close, he recalled, Jon hadn’t been the Archivist; they’d been in the Institute’s library, and Jon’s thoughts had been a cloud of temptation and sweet, innocent romantic notions that Elias had made sure to never quite deny. It seemed as if Jon recalled as well, as bitterness and longing fought alongside fear in his expression. Elias had always been fascinated by how poorly Jon hid himself. Everything he felt was right there, written neatly on every line of his face. A terrible, dangerous way to live, in Elias’ opinion — though perfect for what he’d planned for Jon, of course. 

“What have you done to me?” Jon asked at last. It was quieter, this time.

“What makes you think I’ve done anything at all?”

“ _Stop that,_ ” Jon pushed. “I — I know we’re trapped here, at the Institute, Tim and, and Martin and — Sa — and me. I know that I’m — Leitner said the Institute was, a, a _temple_ of sort—”

“Leitner had no clue what he was talking about,” Elias cut him off sharply. “Though I know you’re smart enough that you’ve figured out most of what’s going on, haven’t you?”

“I’ve barely scratched the surface of it all,” Jon murmured. “But if this is the— the Eye’s temple — then surely you’re the — the high priest. You’re the _reason_ we can’t leave—”

“I’m quite flattered you give me so much power,” Elias smiled; his grip tightened on Jon’s side, and Jon’s eyes fluttered. His heart was racing in his chest now, and Elias knew Jon couldn’t figure out how much of it was anticipation and how much was blind terror. “In this scenario, what do you fancy being, Jon? A worshipper? Or the sacrificial lamb?”

Fear won. “You said you weren’t going to kill me,” Jon stammered.

“I asked you _why_ I would kill you,” Elias corrected.

Slowly, he curled his fingers around Jon’s throat; Jon was sweating, breathing too hard, even though Elias was careful not to press in. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Jon so scared -- his pupils were completely dilated by fear, his cheeks flushed, his thoughts crumbling before fully forming. He was the most beautiful creature Elias had ever witnessed. 

“You, you said— you said I wouldn’t be easily replaced.”

“You wouldn’t,” Elias admitted. 

“So it can’t be that you want me dead.”

“Smart boy.”

“Why?” Jon asked, and it was desperate and forceful then, compulsion hitting Elias stronger; Elias breathed through it with deep satisfaction. “What do you _want_ from me, Elias?”

“Nothing more than what you’ve already been doing,” Elias answered easily. “But I assume that does not satisfy you, does it?”

Jon looked on, helpless; Elias moved closer still, and carded his fingers through Jon’s hair, soothing and gentle. 

“Why don’t you tell me what you want from me, Jon? Why did you come here tonight?”

There were easy answers that sprung into Jon’s mind immediately. _Martin didn’t answer my call_ was laced with self-recrimination and the familiar, repressed hint of longing. _I could only think of Georgie but Georgie doesn’t know and I couldn’t put her in danger_ was filled with uncertainty and the quiet fear of being pushed away after years of silence. _I didn’t want to believe it was you_ was nothing but a plea and a lie crafted from years of happy, unburdened memories.

“I don’t know,” Jon breathed shakily. The honesty surprised Elias, though it shouldn’t have. Dear, dear Jon, flayed open at any instant and begging to be hurt. 

“Well,” Elias mused. “Do you want to know what I think? I think you wanted to be comforted in the narrative you’ve built in your mind. The one in which you are the victim of something too big to escape from, and you don’t know if you should try running all the same, or if it might just be easier to fall.”

Jon made a small noise, and raised his eyes again to meet Elias’. “I didn’t _choose_ any of this,” he said. 

“But you did,” Elias retorted, caressing his cheek. “At every single threshold, you pressed on, relentlessly.”

“I didn’t _know_ what I was— _”_

“You did tonight. And yet here you are, putting yourself at the mercy of a murderer.”

This brought a deep, violent flush on Jon’s cheeks; his heartbeat picked up again and he looked away guiltily. 

“It’s quite alright, Jon,” Elias said sympathetically. “If you wish for me to be the villain of your story, _I can be._ ” 

Jon didn’t immediately seem to realize it when Elias started to squeeze his throat. For a brief, single moment, he merely looked uncertain, until the panic kicked in. Elias pressed harder, watched with exhilarated impassivity as Jon choked on nothing, mouth opening noiselessly to try to fill his body with air. When Elias let go, Jon started coughing immediately, violently, and tried to take a step away. He didn’t get to. As soon as he’d taken a breath, Elias squeezed again, _harder._

“I can be as monstrous as you imagine me to be,” he whispered, pressing a kiss over Jon’s burning cheek. “I can be the evil king of the fairy tale. Keeping you trapped in the tower just for my cruel, sinful enjoyment.”

Dumb, animal instinct finally overtook Jon’s body; he tried raising his arms, tried pushing Elias away, eyes filled with tears. It was only once even that spark of fight seemed to dim, when Jon’s gaze turned glassy, that Elias properly released him. Jon fell to the ground, retching, struggling to find his breath. Above him, Elias waited a few seconds, taking in the gorgeous image of this fragile, helpless thing he would one day shape into the most powerful creature in the world, thoroughly _his,_ before calmly raising a hand and going back to stroke Jon’s hair. The gentle gesture seemed to be Jon’s breaking point. He began to cry silently, gathering his arms around himself. 

“ _Or_ I could be a guide,” he suggested mildly. “If you’re ready to admit it’s not all so black and white, Jonathan, I’m more than willing to be what I’ve always been for you. Your mentor. _Your friend._ Only this might require a bit of trust on your part.”

Amidst the uncontrollable sobbing, Jon made an odd, hoarse sound that Elias assumed to be a broken laugh. Elias’ hand stopped mid-stroke, and slid over Jon’s face until he could easily tilt his chin up. 

“Do you want to hear a truth, Archivist?” 

Jon blinked; a few more tears spilled out of his eyes until, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

“I am so _incredibly_ proud of you,” Elias said. “One day, you will be magnificent.”

He calmly offered his hand as Jon took another shuddering breath, barely able to stop another fit of coughing. He was still terrified, Elias knew -- he could feel it in the deep of his bones. But he was also tired and he had nobody, nobody at all apart from Elias right now. So he raised his own trembling fingers, grasped Elias’ palm, and let himself be pulled on his feet again; let himself be pulled against Elias’ chest, still so unaware of how hungry for him Elias was, especially like this, utterly under his control. Elias caressed the back of his neck, and fondly kissed his temple.

“You’ve been very brave, Jon,” he murmured. “You can rest, now. I'll allow it.”

It was almost too good when he felt Jon lean heavily against him, quietly crying on his shoulder. Elias embraced him tightly, barely able to handle the rush of satisfaction and power going to his head. It was too soon to be so happy; there were still hundreds of ways Jon could fail, hundreds of ways he might have to discard him. But _how could he,_ when he was so pliant under Elias’ hands? Jon was Elias’ masterpiece.

He would not fail. 

He would be perfect, if only because Elias willed him to be. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> And then Elias carried Jon bridestyle to his bedroom, took his clothes off, and did not kiss him, but let him curled in his bed, stroking his back and praising him some more.
> 
> In the morning Jon freaked out and got proper angry and Elias was delighted and helped exactly zero amount, probably sending Jon on his way. Or kissing him. who knows.


End file.
